50 Reasons to Say Goodbye Read Free

…” She glances at her notes. “Jenny, your
“friend.”
“ She lifts her fingers to form the speech marks.
    On the way home I go back to the pub. I order a drink;I am trembling again. The man with the smile is there.
    â€œHello,” he says.
    His name is Nick. He has brown eyes and gappy teeth. He smiles a lot. We drink our pints, I tell him the story.
    He says, “It’s hard coming out.”
    â€œIs that what I’m doing?”
I wonder.
    I like talking to Nick better than Catherine. He seems to have more common sense. He hates shrinks.
    Saturday, we meet in the park. We walk; we talk. He tells me about his family. His boyfriend is a fireman.
    â€œHe’s very sexy in his uniform,” he confides.
    Monday night, and I’m back with Catherine, supposedly my fix after the weekend. Gone is the cool detachment of our previous meetings.
    â€œWhy did you go there?” she wants to know.
    â€œYou said that if I went to a bar, I would know,” I reply.
    â€œI doubt that I said that,” she says.
    I frown. I shrug. “You did.”
    She smiles. “Well if that’s what you think you heard,” she says. “Anyway,” she sighs. “Do tell me about your “gay” night out.” She makes the speech marks again.
    I want to ask her what the “ “ is all about but I don’t dare. I say, “It’s OK really. It’s just a pub.”
    â€œDid you talk to anyone?”
    I nod. “Yeah, a man called Nick – nice, he has a boyfriend, a fireman.”
    Catherine closes her eyes, breathes deeply. She looks as if she’s doing yoga. I fidget in my seat. I watch her.
    â€œLook, Mark. You have to stop this before you do yourself harm,” she finally says.
    I feel strange, caught between tears and anger. Idon’t know why.
    â€œCan I leave?” I gather my jacket towards me.
    She looks at her watch. “In ten
minutes
,” she says. “In the meantime, tell me about … whatever his name is.”
    I’m surprised. It is the first time she has ever forgotten a name.
    â€œNick?” I ask.
    She nods.
    I sigh. “I told you. He’s nice.”
    â€œAre you,
attracted
to him?”
    I frown. “In what way?”
    â€œWell I’m not talking about his
intellect
now am I?!”
    â€œWhat?” I feel angry but I’m still not quite sure why. “Do I
fancy
him?”
    Catherine seems to swell, to sweat; her eyes burn. “Listen, Mark,” she says. “I’m going to stop this conversation right now; it’s not … good.”
    I stare at her.
    â€œThe only question you need to ask yourself is this, Mark: do you ever want to be in a long term, loving relationship?”
    I smile incredulously. “Well, of course.”
    â€œThen, my dear Mark, you are
not
a homosexual.” She smiles again.
    I wrinkle my nose and open my mouth. “Sorry?” I say.
    â€œHomosexuals don’t
have
loving relationships,” she says.
    My mouth drops.
    She shakes her head. “They have sex, Mark. Sex in bars, sex in back streets, sex in toilets. Now if that’s what you want …”
    In my mind I tell her to fuck off. In my mind I say,
“If you are a heterosexual then I’d rather be gay.”
But for some reason I’m scared of her.
    I say, “Oh dear, times up. See you next week then.”
    I am unimaginably angry. I lean against a wall outside until I can breathe properly.
    I never return. I go to the Burleigh instead.
    Sometimes I wonder if she did it on purpose, if she said it to push me. But my guess is that she just doesn’t like gays.

A Beautiful Tart
    From that moment on, my virginity is a weight I drag along behind me. It is something I need to get rid of. I tell Nick this, he understands. “Once I had decided, I slept with the first guy that came along. He wasn’t even cute,” he says.
    I need to sleep with a